


Abyssinia

by SeeNashWrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Detective, Fun, Gen, Humor, Parody, Pulp, Silly, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNashWrite/pseuds/SeeNashWrite
Summary: A down-on-his-luck detective - and he's low, as low as a speakeasy in a basement of a dive off the main strip, where teacups overflow with hooch, and coppers lurk in the alleyways with the rest of the dirty rats - gets an unexpected new client.





	Abyssinia

I’d just thrown back my first glass of third-rate booze when I heard the knock. It’d been months of barely enough lettuce to keep my old jalopy running, wouldn’t be long til I was on the city juice. I’d already called it a day, but hadn’t closed up shop.

I looked up to see a broad for the books, a real dilly, whistle-bait if I’d ever seen it, and she was standing in my doorway, a tall drink of water thanks to those shiny heels leading to stocking-covered gams that wouldn’t quit, wrapped in a dress I knew was worth plenty of dough, all topped off with a cherry-red pucker that opened up slow.

“Gonna invite me in —-” a pause, a glance to the door’s etched window “—-Winchester?”

The sound of my name floating across the room courtesy of those velvet pipes of hers, and I knew I was gonna fold like a wiseguy at his first poker game.

As she walked to the chair, I gave her the ol’ up-and-down, and she dealt it right back, crossed those stems of hers, pulled a cigarette case from her bag, put a coffin nail between her fingers, then finally brought those diamond eyes back to mine.

“Got a light?”

I’d already had a hand in my pants, grabbing my trusty lighter. I leaned in close, fired her up with one flick. While she puffed the stick slid between her pearly choppers, I took a load off, asked the question that needed to be asked.

“So, what’s bothering you, Sweetheart?”

Now there was real ice in her eyes, and she re-crossed the stems, re-opened the bag, this time pulling out a gun, so I 86’d the sweethearts before she got a mind to 86  _me_.

Damn, what a dame.

“No need for the hardware, Gorgeous.”

“The name’s Birdie.”

“Ha. You ain’t no bird.”

“I’ve been known to whistle a tune.”

“With that kisser, I believe it. You earn your scratch making like a canary, Doll?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You a fat-head, Dick?’

"Easy, there, eager-beaver. Don’t go playing me for a sucker.”

“You think I’m planning on taking you for a ride?”

“My luck’s been on empty. Besides, I got the feeling you’re no push-over.”

“You done throwing the lines, so we can get down to business?”

“I’m all outta hooks,” I told her, and she kept the gun but didn’t keep quiet.

“Heard you used to be a G-man.”

“You heard right. Got the screw put to me. Never looked back.”

“Frame job?”

I took a pull off the last of the watered-down hooch, told her, “Something like that.”

“‘Cause you’re more of a swigger man, or a trigger man?”

I gave her another once-over, but this time it wasn’t because she had me twitterpated, tips-to-toes. “Sounds like you already know the answer, [Sweeth—-](http://seenashwrite.tumblr.com/post/159358473320/sweetheart-dean-said-looking-right-into-her)”

She began to tilt the gun barrel in my direction again.

I set down my empty glass, grabbed some air. “Already said, no need to snap your cap. Anyway, no. Had to do with some funny money. Lousy frame-up but they took the stoolie’s word, gave me the bum’s rush.”

“So it was all bull.”

“Oh, no. We raided the till. Every chance we got.”

She blinked, first break I saw in that dish. “I… you… what? ’ _We_ ’?”

“I wasn’t the only one who had a finger in the pie. But the buck got passed. Made my share of license plates. Now I’m out. So here we are.”

“Here we are,” she repeated.

We stared at each other, moments rolling by like a dropped donut with a copper on its tail, then she broke it with a side-eye to the ash about make a run for it. I slid the glass to the end of my desk. A short tap and a long drag later, and Birdie started to sing. Sounded like an easy job; maybe  _too_  easy. She’d told me almost everything.

All except the part that was bothering her most.

“That ain’t all, though. Come on, Angel.”

“Birdie,” she reminded me.

“Same thing from where I’m sittin’.”

She blushed, then said, “You’re living up to your reputation. Winchester the Chiseller.”

I chuckled. “You came to me, Birdie. Whaddya say you let me take a swing at it?”

“At what?”

“At proving you wrong. I’ll make you a deal: you don’t have to cough up the clams unless I crack this wide open.”

Now she sighed, but the gun went back into the bag, and the cig was snubbed out, and the last of the smoke cleared up enough for me to see the worry all over that beautiful mug of hers.

“I almost believe you,” she said.

“I’ll make you a believer. So, spill. Tell your new best friend Dean how to stick some faith to you.”

“This might take awhile, Dean.”

“For you, Kid? I got all night.”

.

_~ Fin ~_

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is fuel! Let me know if you enjoyed. -Nash
> 
> *~*~*
> 
> FYI, because I had never *heard* of such but thought the silliness went with the story when I went on a hunt for a title - in the '20s/'30s/'40s in America, "abyssinia" was popular slang for "I'll be seeing you."
> 
> *~*~*
> 
> I stopped it short because my brain ran out of idioms and euphemisms. I think several of those might not have been of the exact time period verbiage I was going for. Which was a broad ‘30s / ‘40s American (at least, I think - did all English-speaking countries start up with this hilarity? Hmmm…) slang.
> 
> In any event, yes, I am aware that the Dean ep with Ness was in the ‘40s, and that Prohibition/speakeasies/et al were a blip on the radar (a decade-ish, if memory serves) in the late ‘20s/early ‘30s. But these people - the ones whose assholes were so tight that, as Ferris Bueller said, you could shove a lump of coal up there and get a diamond - had been at it since before the turn of the century, so libations were kind’ve a fringe, “oooh, dare I?” thing for quite awhile (at least, in public life).
> 
> Thing is, the joints that managed to turn into legit businesses - if they had big money (think in a mobster-ish vein) backing, it was easier, of course - still had a ways to go, and it trailed into the mid, maybe even late, 30s. It wasn’t like the repeal of Volstead was a magic wand. There’s a “V”-related Voldemort joke in there, but I’m not the gal to make it. Anyhow, then the Great Depression hit the stage around 1930, and you can imagine the rest.
> 
> And of course, when jazz and blues and swing dancing really began to go mainstream - such joints would likely feature this stuff when able - in the late ‘30s/early 40s, it was the teen/young adult hobby du jour for those same tight-ass Temperance types to sneer upon. Find you some Harlem Lindy Hop footage. Be dazzled.
> 
> And from there, you know - hanging out at the drive-thrus and drive-in movies (50s), those musicians with their yea-drugs-and-free-love-and-no-war songs at dadgum Woodstock, people having sex for fun and not just procreation (60s), etc., etc., etc., down to most of us in present time (all this technology is making idiots of the lot of them! damn social media!). Same song, different verse.
> 
> Point being, plenty of draaaaamaaaaa across those decades, lots of backroom stuff going down, plenty for a gumshoe to chew on.


End file.
